Behind the Screen
by RecklessAngel007
Summary: "She was the snake and snake charmer all rolled up in one. Her tattoo-covered arms, combined with the way she moved, made her look as if she was playing with a real snake. When she wrapped them around her body she had us all under her spell..." Smut warning - Entry for the Public Lovin' Fanfiction Contest AH/Canon pairing


Entry for Public Lovin Fanfiction Contest hosted by

GossipLips , JandMsMommy, and MissJanuary

- PublicLovinFanfictionContest dot blogspot dot com -

**Dedicated to all my friends who suffered me from pre-reading to recommending music for my writing playlist and just enduring my chatty, crazy ass: Lady Asher, Ms. Bossypants, and - of course - the lovely Neyvada. Mwah! Especial thanks to AMC for her support, hours of work going through the story and because she's just awesome.**

**Betas: KathMod and Shouvley from PTB. You have my eternal gratitude, ladies.  
~*~**

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**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Warning & All kinds of 'Beware of the dog' signs: **This contains adult situations, some foul language, explicit sex and allusions to prostitution, if you're under-age or you don't feel comfortable reading this kind of things, this is your chance to abandon the story.

Now, if you're still with me, I'll address the rest of the reader's usual concerns. There's not cheating involved, no paedophilia or any other kind of deviation, and no violence or rape. The situation presented involves only consensual exchange between adults.

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When I first arrived in Paris, I didn't think I'd like it. It was so different from Boston, so lively, so full of the most peculiar places and characters, but it had somehow grown on me. My father used to say Paris was an acquired taste, and he couldn't have been more right. I had talked with him a long time when the publishing house I worked for offered me the position. I was a lazy bookworm, my comfort relied on habit; I wasn't overjoyed to cross the Atlantic Ocean, and move to a strange city. My parents had been very supportive. My dad, in particular, believed I needed to broaden my horizons, so he found the idea particularly promising. He pointed out that I was young and single, and living a year in Europe was the kind of experience I'd always regret if I let it pass. I didn't have many arguments to support my staying, aside from the tell-tale cowardice and wariness to new situations, so in the end, I packed and took the flight.

I wasn't expecting the people in R&R to receive me with open arms. The group I worked for had recently acquired that firm, so I was there to make some cutting in the staff or whatever changes needed to make it profitable again. In spite of that, my coworkers seemed to take it better than I thought they would.

My job was interesting, but what blew my mind was the time I spent on the Parisian streets. The bookstands had been love at first sight, but that was predictable. I loved books, and the used-book mongers along the Seine were just too good to be true. I couldn't get enough, so I started looking for new locations to continue my excursions.

_Pont des Arts_ quickly sparked a whole new group of interests to pursue. Maybe I was fascinated with the_ studio en plein air_. The artists congregated there felt like a universe to explore.

I met a very chatty girl who experimented with a mix of photography and textile art. I began visiting her almost daily, buying coffee for both of us, and carrying it to where she usually placed her easel. She was from Mississippi, and she provided me with the American slice of comfort I was missing. It wasn't like I had any romantic interest in her. I knew she had a boyfriend; she was just a good friend who understood my infatuation for the city and could relate to my new found thirst for the art scene without judging.

One day I met her boyfriend; he was also an artist, but he preferred living canvases for his creations. Jasper was Alice's exact opposite. He was the moderation to her exuberance, cryptic where she was wordy; however, they seemed to complement each other to perfection.

They looked so happy together, that I started wondering if I'd ever feel like that with a woman. I had dated a few girls in college, but none of them felt right. They were too shy, or too clingy, or we wanted different things for our lives. After I graduated, I focused on my career, leaving the relationships aside. If there was a girl out there who belonged with me, I'd find her somehow. I believed in fate. Otherwise, My parents would have never met each other.

I wasn't sure if it was envy for what they had, or perhaps the need to understand how their relationship worked, but I started visiting Jasper's tattoo parlor almost as frequently as Pont des Arts.

I had been checking their albums one evening, not really paying attention to the pictures of random, inked people, until a girl with an elaborate tattoo caught my eye. Both of her arms and part of her shoulders were covered with an intricate design simulating snakeskin. It struck me as odd at first, a young girl like her, marking her body in such a permanent way, in places she would never be able to hide, but when Jasper explained to me that she was an exotic dancer, my curiosity got the best of me.

I had never been to a porn show or anywhere similar to what Jasper described to me. I blamed it to being an only child raised by two overprotective parents, but if I had to be honest, I was too quiet and self-conscious to even consider the idea. My best friends were a bunch of introverted people I met in college, so that didn't helped matters any. We were together because of the social awkwardness we shared, none of us would have suggested a party at a strip club to embarrass ourselves.

Jasper told me that he had gone to Caligula's a few times before he met Alice, yet he didn't remember seeing Marie performing. He said the place offered all sort of distractions, and judging by his face when he was speaking of them, I was sure that lap dances weren't the most adventurous activities on their menu. Still, he didn't know if Marie was a stripper or something else, though he recognized that most of the girls were probably into prostitution in one way or another.

I visited the club that night. I still wasn't sure what made me go there at first. Maybe the desire of seeing the snake girl do her thing, but after I saw her on stage, I couldn't stop myself from going there night after night.

Caligula's was a mix of a nightclub and bordello, though they seemed to mask that last part pretty well. I knew that behind closed doors many less than legal things were happening, but the public façade was one of an erotic club.

My first time there, I had been so overwhelmed by the variety of stimuli that I had trouble concentrating on any of the varied entertainments they offered; there were naked girls swinging from metal rings hung above us, and a dividing wall on one side, peppered with different sizes of keyholes from which one could watch women touching themselves.

On the opposite side of the peeping-tom area, a group of people in diverse states of undress, posed on a platform, like a bizarre, living work of art, changing positions from time to time. As if they had it choreographed.

In the center of the room, a runaway-style stage hosted a stripper show. A busty blonde dressed in a vintage pin-up get getup was caressing her tits up there, dancing to a Portishead song. She was alluring, but no matter how sexy the blonde was moving, what got my full attention was the girl with the pale blue wig and inked arms on the platform.

Marie.

She was the girl from the pictures, the one who had lured me in there from the beginning. She was slim, toned, with meat in all the right places, and hotter than I had imagined. Seeing her lying there on display for everyone to see stirred lustful feelings inside of me. My first instinct was to reach up and cover her, maybe take her to some place private to expose her to my eyes only. Those thoughts made me feel like some creepy stalker, and I didn't like it.

I had no problems with her being naked and sprawled over the velvety cushions on her stage like some Arabian beauty in a Sheik's harem. I had problems with the rest of the men seeing her. It was sick and inexplicable; the girl didn't even know me. Why was I suddenly so protective?

Denying that I enjoyed the sight her naked would have been a lie. I felt like a hypocrite trying to hide her from prying eyes when I had known all along that was her job. It still felt wrong sharing her with others.

I couldn't wrap my mind around the concept. Unexpected didn't even begin to cover it. I should have never gone to a porn club, it was clear that it wasn't my scene.

_When a prude like you is sure that he's acting like a creep, you know the situation is fucked up. Way to go, Cullen! What's next? Serial killer?_

I shuddered at my thoughts; I really needed to get a grip. I might be a bit socially inept, but crime wasn't my thing for sure. Finally I took a seat at a nearby table and ordered a drink. The waitress was wearing a semi transparent gown; she reminded me of one of those servants in those movies about ancient Rome. It hung straight down, stopping inches below her crotch, fastened only at her shoulders, and was open on both sides. She wasn't wearing anything underneath; however, no matter how suggestive she looked, my mind returned to Marie.

While waiting for my bourbon, I tried to distract myself by taking in the whole scene they were presenting on Marie's stage. It looked like something oriental, the bodies bathed in a soft warm light that gave the group a complementary hue of skin, almost golden.

There were two other girls and a guy with her. One of the girls was topless, her legs wrapped in a scrap of gauzy fabric; the other one, fully naked playing some kind of sitar. A big muscular man dressed in a loin cloth was pretending to be a slave, blowing air at them, rhythmically agitating a bamboo fan.

I had seen them switch from one pose to another a few times while I was sitting there, but I had to suppress a groan when they changed positions again.

Marie shifted her hips and leaned her body forward. She was on her knees, stretching forward, with her palms flat in front of her, posing as if she was praying or worshipping somebody. I didn't really try to understand the picture; all I could focus in was the fact that her ass was in the air, a few feet away from me. It was like a curse, as if she had chosen that exact position only to torture me.

God, she did torture me. I was sporting a boner the size of Texas.

Her legs were slightly spread, giving me an unconcealed view of her pussy and perfect round ass. I couldn't stop staring at her. It was like a trance; everything around me disappeared, and all that mattered was her luscious sex, taunting me.

I looked at her for a few minutes, only snapping from my daze when the curvy waitress brought my drink. As soon as she left my table, I started to get alarmed.

Had anybody noticed I been staring like a pervert?

I glanced around surreptitiously to confirm what I thought was obvious, but to my surprise, no one seemed to be paying attention, not only to me or to the harem in display. That made me feel marginally better; there were no other men watching Marie with the same rapture I was experiencing. She was all mine.

I checked again, and sure enough, with the way her body was angled toward my sea, nobody else could have that view unless they walked by the platform and stood right in front of me. People didn't seem to stop; they just strolled around the little stage on their way to whichever part of the club they were going.

Normal people just considered them part of the decoration; I was the only sick fuck who was drooling over this strange girl's ass.

_Classy, Cullen. Very classy._

I saw Marie doing diverse things through the days, all of them fuelling my shower sessions, but the most arousing images always belonged to her stage appearances.

The first time I saw her stripping on stage, I thought I was going have a heart attack. She moved with a grace and sensuality that put all the rest of the girls to shame.

She was mesmerizing, but the problem was all the eyes that were set on her. My problem, anyway. She seemed to be comfortable and flirty, working the audience with a confidence I hadn't seen in her before. I had gotten used to her in different states of nudity in public by that time, I could find comfort in the fact that nobody seemed to pay attention to the living, breathing decoration, but when she was up the stage, dancing, it was impossible that any male in the room would miss her presence.

The song was glamorous and slow, with a bit of an oriental cadence, and I understood why she had picked it. She was the snake and snake charmer all rolled up in one. Her tattoo-covered arms, combined with the way she moved, made her look as if she was playing with a real snake. When she wrapped them around her body she had us all under her spell.

She was wearing a metal bra with a matching head dress, and her legs picked from beneath a long, lose, light skirt. She looked like the vampire queen from an Anne Rice story. Her skirt hit the floor quickly, and she was soon dancing in that skimpy golden top and tiny shorts covered in rhinestones. A lonely garter was hugging her left leg, not that she wasn't wearing stockings to need it, but mostly as an accessory. My next issue came with the flirty grins and suggestive glances: patrons touching her while they slid tips into her shorts or under her garter…

She seemed oblivious to the roaming fingers, focused on her dance, every once in a while going to the back of the stage to leave the tips she gathered. Her clothes were decreasing at an appalling rate. She got rid of her shorts and the metal bra, while she kept on dancing and touching her body in only a dark dental-floss thong. I wasn't sure where she was going to stop, if she was stopping at all.

To equal parts of my dismay and happiness, she didn't.

I will never know how I was able to stand the whirlpool of emotions that coursed through me that night. I wanted to toss my jacket over her and cover her sinful body, and I wanted to bend her over a table and fuck her stupid from behind.

Of course, I did neither, but that was the night I decided I was done watching. I had to make my move.

We talked lots of times; she accepted a few drinks, but only at night, while she was at the club. She turned me down every time I tried to invite her anywhere during the day; she said the daylight was hers and hers alone. I didn't understand her back then, or perhaps I didn't want to understand the meaning of her words.

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_We were outside Caligula's, smoking in silence with our backs pressed against the wall, when she suddenly turned to me._

_"Daylight means I'm free, Edward. I don't belong to anybody, and nobody can make me do anything I don't want. I don't need fake smiles or a wig; I don't even need a stupid name. I can just be me. I'm not willing to renounce to that. Sorry," she told me in a tired voice._

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She also told me she didn't want any kind of relationship more times than I'd care to admit.

So I let her be. I settled for seeing her every night at the club, no matter how much it hurt me. I promised myself that I wasn't going to push her; she would come around at some point if she wanted, if it was meant to be.

Still, I needed her like a junkie needs his next fix. I craved her presence. It was essential that I saw her at least once a night, a foolish inspection to assure me she was alive, so my Marie-centered world could function.

I didn't realize how insane my addiction to her was until the night I couldn't find her, the night I pushed us both deeper, without even thinking.

I had walked around the club three times, staring at all the girls closely, seeking Marie without finding her. She usually wore a wig, different colors on different nights. I didn't even know which color I was looking for that night. I would never have known her real hair color if I hadn't seen her photo at the tattoo parlor months ago.

"She's gonna perform behind the screen tonight," Rosalie informed me with a grimace. I was on a first name basis with most of the girls, after being such a devoted client for the last two months.

"What? Why..?" I asked her, shocked.

I knew what the show was like. I had seen it before. They've got a big screen and a series of mirrors and spotlights on either side. I also knew what was involved .

Sex. Paid sex with a stranger.

They called it 'shadow love'. One of the girls fucked a previously arranged client while the voyeurs watched. Their shadows projected against the bright screen, and the speakers sent their moans and groans, amplifying and mixing them with music, for everybody to join the experience.

I was aware that Marie had had sex for money before, but I preferred that image buried in the past. She had told me a dozen times that she didn't do it anymore, that she wasn't a newbie at the club, and she could choose her gigs.

Yet she was going to do it that night, and I didn't know if I was going to be able to stand it. Suddenly I started feeling nauseated. Should I leave before the show and pretend I never knew?

Part of me wished it was possible, but I knew there was no place on earth to hide while she was fucking a stranger.

Rosalie was aware of my situation, so when I asked her what I should do, she came up with the crazy plan. If I had been thinking straight, I would have never agreed with such a ridiculous thing. However I was desperate, so I did the only thing I could; I went along with Rosalie's idea.

That's the only explanation I have as to why I was standing in the dark, at one side of the screen, watching Marie dance for the audience. I knew she couldn't see me due to the position of the lights, but that didn't stop my heart from almost hammering its way out of my throat when somebody nudged my shoulder. That was my cue to approach her.

I walked a few steps forward and stood in the light, asking myself, for the millionth time, how I had gotten to the point of obsessing over a girl so much that I'd be willing to pay just to be able to kiss her, to have her in my arms.

Marie made her last few dance moves around a Thonet chair that was in the front of the illuminated area. She was wearing a black lacy outfit: a barely there mini-skirt, stockings with a garter belt, long gloves, and fuck-me heels. She got rid of the skirt first; then she took her sweet time with the gloves and shoes, stripping to the music, her back still turned to me.

The song had changed to something slower, in French. I vaguely recalled having heard it in an old movie.

I watched her remove her stockings; her movements were so fucking cliché, like a mix of a Madonna video and a Broadway musical scene, yet she still made it look new to me. Perhaps her magnetism had me trapped since the first time I saw her, maybe I was clinging to my last minutes of safety; because I knew that once she turned around and looked at me, everything would change.

I didn't have time to overthink it; Rosalie had dragged me to the manager explaining her plan as we went. I had to be the first one to make a nice offer for the spot behind the screen if we wanted it to work; however, once it was set, I had plenty of time to imagine how Marie would react when she saw me there.

Two very different outcomes played in my mind. In the best scenario, she'd just ignore the fact it was me, and get on with the show. In the worst one, she'd get pissed and refuse to perform with me, maybe even picking up a random guy for her performance.

I knew she wasn't going to be thrilled to see me, she had turned me down enough times for me to expect that. Deep inside, I felt like cheating, dragging her to be intimate with me when she clearly wouldn't have chosen that if she had a say. It was selfish and it felt like I was using her job as a mean to take advantage of her. Still, I needed to try, she had never really told me that she wasn't attracted to me, in fact we seemed to get along pretty well. She just refused to hang out with me outside the club.

I was hoping for the best, still bracing myself for the worst. I wasn't sure I could take the hit if she decided to have a fit and demand another partner once she realized it was me. I wasn't even sure if I could visit Caligula's again after that. It would probably mark the last time I saw her. I knew it was absurd, and I felt like an idiot, obsessed and jealous over a girl who didn't want me and worked at a sex club, of all places. However, watching her fucking a stranger after turning me down would be my limit. I could almost hear my brain screaming in fear.

Suddenly, she stood and turned around, facing me from her side of the stage, and I stopped breathing. Surprise was plain in her expression as she stared at me. For a moment I was sure I had seen her eyes flash a view of her real self, and then something changed; she put on her game face.

She locked her eyes with mine, a flirty smirk playing on her lips, while she crawled toward me like a cat over the cushioned platform that stood between us, and curled a finger gesturing me to get closer.

My mind was already in overdrive. I didn't process the fact that I was about to have sex for an audience. All I could see was Marie with that 'come hither' look in her eyes, and I was a goner.

I wanted to hold her, kiss her, and make sweet love to the pigheaded girl, but I was aware that that could hardly make a show. I settled for the only thing I could do right then: fuck her like there was no tomorrow.

I walked to her. When my feet reached the side of the wooden, cushioned stage, she crawled closer, still on her knees, tugging the front of my shirt, making me lean down. Then her lips were on mine, and she was moaning and licking me while sinking her hands in my hair. I kissed her back with all I had, not caring that my reasons and hers were completely different. My plan was in motion; I was going to stop her from fucking some random guy in public, and even when the plan involved her fucking me instead, I couldn't find it in me to care much about the usual of the situation.

Marie sat back on her heels, reaching for the front of my jeans, and unbuttoning them at a tortuous pace. She was silently telling me that she was in control, so I let her, abandoning myself to her capable hands.

Soon she started pulling my pants down. I helped her by kicking them away.

Rosalie had prepared me for the show, giving me tips and tricks. She said it was best if I removed my underwear in the bathroom because undressing was awkward behind the screen. She also told me to wait for Marie barefoot. I could understand that part; fighting with my shoes while my jeans were around my ankles would have been off putting, so I mentally thanked her for her advice. Standing before Marie in only my shirt was still awkward. Especially because my brain was processing the image of her semi naked in front of me, taking off my own clothes on something resembling to a bed, and I was hard as a rock.

She glanced down at my erection, licking her lips, and my cock tightened.

Apparently my body had no problems with showing interest before an audience. It was both disturbing and relieving. It had crossed my mind that I'd be too nervous to be on display and not able to get it up. Luckily, I was discovering that I was kinkier than I thought, and the idea of this naked girl in public aroused me more than I'd have thought possible.

She stood up. The makeshift bed was not too high, but enough for her to tower over me while being on her feet. She reached down and began unbuttoning my shirt, touching my chest and moaning, raising up to grind her tits against my face from time to time.

When she took care of the last button, she pushed my shirt down my shoulders and took a step back. Her fingers dipped in her cleavage, pulling a condom out and tossing it on the bed, then she undid the black scrap of lace that was covering her breasts.

I stood there watching her, not even noticing that she had left my shirt hanging from my arms, the sleeves stuck midway because my cuffs were still fastened. I realized my mistake soon enough when she stepped forward again and threw her bra behind my neck, effectively trapping me against her body. I tried to reach for her and found out that my arms were tangled in my shirt, so I had to improvise.

I knew she had done that on purpose, and somehow I found it stimulating. I tilted my head back to look at her, matching her smirk with one of my own, and then I took her left nipple in my mouth.

She gasped, and I groaned.

Since we were on speaker, I knew I couldn't tell the stubborn girl that I was falling for her, but I could show her how much I wanted her. I could show the rest of the voyeurs out there how she made me feel, so I didn't hold back.

I licked and sucked, enticing her, alternating hot wet suction and light touches. I caressed her breasts roughly with my nose, and more gently rubbing my stubble against her sensitive skin, until it erupted in goose bumps, and she arched her back in pleasure.

I couldn't be sure if she was faking the noises, but I could damn well make sure to do all the kind of things that would give me a certain hint that she was enjoying it.

She let go of her bra, letting it slide to the floor; then she laid down, one of her hands around my neck, bringing me down with her. I put my knees on either side of her upper thighs, a little smug that this time it was her fighting to disentangle the shirt from my arms.

I shook my head no and gave her a warning glance. She reclined back on her elbows.

I took my time freeing my arms, all the time rubbing my pelvis against hers, pleased about the hungry look in her eyes, and the harsh stares she was giving to my dick.

Once my shirt was gone, I placed my palm flat on her chest, between the swell of her breasts, making her lie all the way down on the mattress.

If she was thinking I was going to let her blow me, and then just get inside her and be done, she was very wrong. They had told me that I didn't need to hurry when I paid for the service. I guessed most guys wouldn't even ask for their time limit, but then again, most of the guys probably would just want the high of fucking a hot girl in public. I, on the other hand, was paying to pleasure her, so I was going to use every single minute of her company.

I had also asked what I was allowed to do, and the manager had explained me that it included all the 'regular' things: oral, fingering and sex in any position. He offered me anal for an additional price, but that wasn't even a possibility for me, so I politely declined.

_Nothing says 'I love you' like anal._

Yeah, not exactly Hallmark card material, and sure as hell not what I was aiming for. Not that I'd be opposed to it at some point, but I had to make sure I got the girl first.

_Save the girl, fuck her ass?_

_Definitely romantic, Cullen! No wonder you're single._

It pained me the way the manager had explained the dynamics, so detached, so business like, that I couldn't stop thinking of Marie when she first came to the club. We hadn't talked much about the details, but she hinted that when a new girl joined the staff, she had to start from ground level, accepting all the jobs the more experienced girls didn't want.

The manager, a guy called Laurent, talked about the girls as if they were merchandise, and there was no way around it. I could understand his point of view. For him it was only his way of living. The painful part was that it was also the girls' way of living, and I felt like an ass suddenly judging them while paying to use their services. Marie tried to put him in a good light, telling me he wasn't cruel, just hardened. Still, I didn't like him. There was something disturbing in the way he made his money, I wasn't sure if he was as nice as Marie painted him.

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_"No funny shit allowed. No suffocating, no marking her body," he explained in his heavily accented voice. "I'd understand if you get heated and bite her," he winked at me making my stomach churn," but nothing more serious than a casual spank on the ass. If you're interested in something spicier I can always offer you..." I cut him off with a dismissive gesture, so he resumed his 'regular service' description. "Condoms and lubrication will be provided by the house. No personal fetishes allowed on stage; if you get off by - lets say - licking feet, you can make an appointment for a private session with one of the girls, but behind the screen you have to do something the majority of the people in the club can relate to, if you understand me," he told me with a patronizing smile. I must have looked at him as if he was crazy, because he chuckled and kept on talking. "You'd be surprised of what people come here asking for, my friend, but I take it you're a straight vanilla guy with no particular obsessions," he said, looking amused._

_If he only knew my brand of obsession..._

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My obsession was right in front of me: lying in only her panties on the white sheets. Her wig was long and fire engine-red, framing her delicate pale skin, and she was moaning and twisting her body like a snake trying to get some friction. I was enthralled watching how the ink on her body slithered and wriggled, following her movement. The scales on her arms seemed to be alive, the spotlights making them glow and giving Marie the appearance of a mythical creature.

I hooked my fingers at the sides of her lacy underwear and pulled them down her legs. Once she was naked, I leaned to kiss her juicy lips one more time, savoring her as my tongue entwined with hers. I wanted to commit to memory her taste of cranberries and wine. Then began kissing my way down her neck. Lifting her and holding her from under her arms, I made my way to her breasts. I didn't linger there long, just enough to make her sensitive nipples pebble under my tongue; I had other ideas.

I backed up a few inches on my knees, my mouth never leaving her skin. Once I was on the edge of the platform, I lowered one of my legs to the ground, then the other, until I was kneeling on the floor between her spread legs.

Marie looked at me, puzzled for a moment, but when I licked my lips and stared pointedly at her pink exposed sex, she glanced daringly at me.

It was all the encouragement I needed. I dipped my head between her thighs and gave her pussy a tentative lick with the tip of my tongue. She moaned throatily and set her legs on my shoulders.

I grabbed her upper thighs for leverage and licked her slit with my flattened tongue . She tasted like the sea, wild and salty. I was so intoxicated by her scent that I couldn't think straight.

I delved my tongue deeper, separating her soft folds, sucking gently on her pussy lips, before pressing the tip of my tongue against her entrance, and trailing up all the way to her clit, never decreasing the pressure. She rewarded me with a whimper, her legs tensing momentarily on my shoulders. I repeated the process a few times, up and down, from her entrance to her clit, until she was squirming and begging for more. I flicked my tongue over the most sensitive part of her, then licked and sucked it as if she was candy, occasionally making passes down and nibbling on her lips, testing how wet and puffy she was growing beneath my mouth.

I guessed she could fake many things, but the juices oozing from her sweet pussy, and the way her sex was swollen and purplish-pink wasn't one of them. If our only time was going to be like this, at least I wanted it to be a memorable one. With some luck, maybe she'd let me make love to her some other time.

I nibbled gently on her sweet spot, and then started fucking her with my tongue. I knew I could finger her, but I decided against it. As much as I'd have loved her coming around my fingers, I was a greedy bastard, and I wanted her pussy clenching around my cock when I was buried balls deep inside her.

She was close, so I raised my head and grasped the back of her legs, disentangling them from me. She let me lead, but I could see how excited she was. I put her legs down on the makeshift bed on each side of my body.

She laid there, legs outstretched, sex fully exposed and swollen, breathing heavily, and looking at me in a mix of awe and need.

I couldn't take it any more; my dick had been throbbing since the minute she took my pants off, and by the time I was eating her out it was almost painful.

I pulled myself up and over the platform, my knee between her parted legs, while I picked her up in my arms again and kissed her, dragging her with me to the middle of the mattress.

She blindly reached for the condom as soon as I put her down. I let go of her mouth and sat back on my ankles, my legs slightly separated between her fully spread ones. She sat and opened the foil package without moving her legs from where they were situated.

The sight of her like that made my cock twitch and leak some pre-cum. Then, when she folded her legs to one side, leaning closer to me, I thought she was going to put the condom on me, but she surprised me by propping herself on her hands and knees, and licking away the transparent liquid that was oozing from my dick.

I wasn't in any condition to bear more stimulation, but the idea of her lips wrapped around my erection was something I couldn't pass up, so I clenched my eyes shut, shuddering as she took me in her mouth.

I had jerked off countless times to the image of Marie giving me a blowjob, but nothing could have prepared me to the actual feeling of her hot, wet mouth around me.

She went up and down my shaft a few times, swirling her tongue on the tip before sucking up to the middle again, while she worked the base with her hand. Then, in one swift move, she took my whole length. I gasped at the sensation, and she moaned in response, sending ripples of pleasure through my nerve endings. I felt my balls tingle, and I was worried I was going to blow my load right then, but she surprised me again by grabbing my dick firmly with the hand she had on the base, and using her other hand to apply pressure with her palm against the head. I didn't want to know where she had learnt that trick, but I was grateful she did it. The strange maneuver she had pulled deflated my member a little, making it nowhere near soft, but enough to alleviate the tightening sensations in my pelvis and delay my impending orgasm.

She looked up to meet my eyes and mouthed 'you're welcome', before she resumed the sweet torture she was inflicting on my cock.

I stood on my knees, arching my pelvis forward, desperate to get more of her, and terrified I wasn't going to last long if she kept doing those things to me. I reached out and buried my fingers on her hair, hating she was wearing a wig, but wanting to touch her somehow, as if to make sure she was real, that she wasn't some figment my imagination had conjured while whacking off.

It would have been very sad realizing that it was nothing but a wet dream, but I knew better than that. There was no way in hell my imagination was so fertile to come up with that kind of fantasy. I had come up with numerous images of Marie since the day I met her, but none of them felt that good.

When her hands started alternating between fondling my balls and pressing a sensitive spot just behind them, I felt that it was too much, and not nearly enough; I had to be inside her.

I tilted her face up, her eyes meeting mine with understanding. She let go of my dick with a sloppy sound and finally put the condom in place.

Marie pushed me back to a sitting position, straddling my lap, then she buried my cock inside her. Once she took in my full length, she began rocking, raising, and lowering her hips in a maddening rhythm. I had never experienced something like that; she was moving in every direction at once, and I was spellbound.

I kissed her hard, full of tongue and teeth, because I didn't know what else to do with the little snake charmer that was about to drain me dry. She kissed me back with a passion matching my own, gripping my hair and pulling it gently, while my hands roamed down her back and squeezed her ass.

She picked up her pace, my hands resting on her hips, encouraging her to go faster. She stopped kissing me to murmur 'lie down' against my mouth, a devious grin playing on her swollen lips as I did what she asked.

Once she was in full control on top of me, she rested her palms flat on my chest and clenched the muscles of her pussy around my cock a few times, eliciting all kinds of noises and swearing from me. I didn't give two shits if they were broadcasting it out there. I had kept my mouth shut for too long, and that thing she was doing with her pussy was driving me crazy. She looked smug, so I guessed the swearing wasn't unexpected.

When she started moving again, her pace was faster than before, but I was elated because she was panting hard, and her pupils were dilated, making her big brown doe eyes look less ethereal and more carnal.

At that point I was about to lose the little control I had left.

"I want to fuck your brains out," I whispered hoarsely to her. She threw her head back giggling, and I was about to shift us, so I could be on top of her, when she raised her hips, freeing my dick with a wet plop.

I didn't have time to protest before she was on all fours, her ass in the air and her slit glistening from her wetness, exactly the same position she was the first day I saw her.

It was like a dream come true. That image of her had been haunting me since day one; only this time, she was waiting for me to fuck her.

"So fucking hot..." I murmured, not sure if I was actually talking to her or to myself.

"Make it good, lover boy," she taunted me, spreading her legs a bit more and pushing her pelvis out while arching her back, giving me the best view of her hungry sex.

I didn't need any more incentive. I almost jumped from where I was and positioned the tip of my cock at her entrance, ramming it inside her as far as it'd go.

"More..." she moaned.

Reaching with my hand to rub her clit, I began thrusting hard and fast, trying to hold it together a few more minutes, because it was too good to surrender to what she was making me feel, and I wasn't sure if she'd let me do it ever again.

"Yes...fuck! Yes! Shit...so close...don't stop...more," she babbled bucking her hips to meet my moves.

Our thrusts were as erratic as our breathing, and I prayed like hell to have the restraint necessary to able to make her cum first, because I really wanted to make her feel good, but I was so worked up that I had reached to the point of no return.

My knees were wavering, and I felt dizzy; most of the blood in my body was probably already in my throbbing dick.

I was clinging to the edge for dear life when I felt her tighten around my shaft. She cried out, and her warmth clutched my cock like a vice, gripping it, and that undid me.

I came hard, cursing and squeezing her hips, thrusting inside her a few more times while riding out both of our orgasms.

When we stopped rocking, I could feel our hearts pulsing where we were connected. I wondered if she could feel them too. I reluctantly pulled out from her, hating the sensation of desolation that accompanied it.

I didn't have much time to consider it, because a dark curtain fell covering the screen, isolating us from the club, at least optically. I could still hear some cheering and clapping. The big spotlights on our side were turned off, leaving only a soft light coming from one of the corners.

The distraction was enough for me to lose visual contact with Marie for a moment, and the next time I looked at her, she was walking toward a curtain on the opposite side from where I had entered the stage. I guessed it led to the staff quarters.

I called her, but she never turned her back, disappearing behind the fabric.

I was going to follow her when Rosalie emerged from the same door I had used to get in.

"Wow! That was hot!" She said licking her finger and pretending to touch a spot in the air in front of me, making a hissing sound imitating the steam. "Dress up, _mon chou_! I'll escort you back to the public part of the club."

I realized a little too late that I was standing naked in front of her. I was so caught up trying to talk to Marie that I didn't notice until I followed her stare right to my cock.

I gracelessly covered my privates with my hands, staring back at her. Rosalie smirked, unabashed, and I decided perhaps it didn't matter anyway, she had probably watched me fucking Marie in dolby surround a moment ago. I doubted there was much modesty I could offer after that.

"I need to talk to Marie," I explained to her.

"Sure you do, _chéri_," she replied, grinning wickedly, "But I think you'll need to dress up first."

She didn't give any signals she was going anywhere, so I dropped my arms and started gathering my clothes, putting them on quickly to follow my viking stalker to the bar area.

"It's Bella," she whispered while I was buttoning up my shirt.

"Bella?" I repeated, confused and not understanding what she was talking about.

"Her name, silly!" She replied,laughing. "You weren't expecting her to be called _Marie-poupée_ for real, right? That's her stage name, Edward."

"Bella," I said softly, enjoying the sensation of pronouncing her name aloud for the first time. "So fitting."

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**A/N: This story is supposed to continue once the contest is over. May I have your opinions? Do you thing it's worth to keep on writing it? Reviews are love, please leave me one.**

**I'm not sure if it's clear in here, but Edward is shy, he's not the kind of person who would find it normal and healthy to be drooling over a stripper. Yet, he can't seem to help it. He'll have to work a lot to overcome those issues if he wants something with Bella. Bella has a past, and she has reasons to be the person she is now. It's not like she's not attracted to Edward, she just thinks she's too damaged to have a relationship. The plan is to have Bella's POV next and explain a little of what's going on in her head. What do you think?**

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**Music for this story:**

* Rosalie's strip tease (the blonde on stage the first day Edward visits the club): "Only you" by Portishead

* First time Edward watches Bella's strip tease:"Exotique" by Soul Ballet

* The song Bella's dancing at the beginning of the lemon: "Mermaid Motel" by Lana Del Rey

* The song in French during the lemon: "Je t'aime moi non plus" by Brigitte Bardot andSerge Gainsbourg

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**Random notes: **The Club's name is in homage to the movie "Caligula", 1979, directed by Tinto Brass. The waitresses' outfits and some of the decoration are loosely based on it.

Bella's stage name is another movie reference, this time to "Marie-poupee", 1976, directed by Joël Sèria. It means Marie, the doll.

Bella's outfit described by Edward in her stage performance is based in Akasha's outfit in the movie "The Queen of the Damned", 2002, directed by Michael Rymer.

And yup, I confess, I'm a movie freak. *winks*


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